Ship of Dreams (23 page)

His chin jutted out stubbornly, but he didn't interrupt this time. She continued.

"Suppose, just suppose, that the majority of your acquaintances and family respond as Mr. Cadbury has. That they reject me—reject us, as a couple—utterly. That your own mother refuses to receive me." He made a convulsive movement, but she plowed on before he could speak. "No, Kent, it could happen. The society columns in the newspapers may vilify me—us. Your business could suffer, to the detriment of your mother and sisters, as well as you, personally."

"It would still be worth it," he declared.

She smiled at his naïveté, for all he was ten years her senior. "You say so now, in the first days of infatuation—and yes, it
has
been only days. But what of a month, a year, from now, when we perhaps have a child to provide for and no friends or family to turn to? Kent, think—you could be giving up your entire way of life for me. I can't help but believe, should that happen, that eventually you would resent me for it."

"No!" He spoke emphatically, but she thought she saw a glimmer of doubt in his eyes. He really hadn't thought it through before.

"Just think about it, that's all I ask." She now allowed softness and sympathy to color her voice. "I've long believed that if one prepares for the worst, it is less likely to occur. I love you, Kent. You know that. And I believe you when you say you love me, and that losing me would cause you pain. But there are other ways I might cause you pain, and I wish to avoid that if it is in my power."

Kent regarded her pensively now. "I've tended to think of myself as the realist between us, and you as the impulsive dreamer, but I see I've been mistaken. You wouldn't have survived and prospered as you have, had you not been so practical.

"Very well." He sighed. "I will give the matter some thought—but it will not change how I feel. Should things fall out as you suggest, you would be the one to suffer most, despite what you say. For that reason alone, I'll consider ways we might counter such a scenario. Will that suffice?"

As an answer, she held out her arms to him and he came to her most willingly.

By suppertime, even the seasoned crew members were willing to admit they were in the grip of a storm. The motion of the ship made serving the meal—to those passengers still willing to eat—difficult, but the stewards and stewardesses valiantly performed their duties.

Virginia Birch, who had spent most of the day in her cabin, emerged to lie upon one of the sofas in the salon, but when Aunt Lucy fussed over her, she declined to be served anything but a little wine. Addie Easton was feeling slightly better, but Della noticed that her appetite was still far from hearty. Of the Pattersons there was no sign.

In fact, of the nearly six hundred passengers aboard the ship, it appeared that more than half were by now afflicted with seasickness. Della feared it might get worse before it got better, though the gentlemen assured the ladies that the storm was sure to abate by morning.

"These late-summer squalls blow up suddenly but are soon over," Judge Monson claimed, and the others who had previously sailed these seas agreed with him. Captain Herndon again played at whist, with Monson and Sharpe making up his party, along with Mr. Brown, a friend of the Eastons who was traveling to New York for his own wedding.

The game had already begun when Mr. Cadbury entered the saloon, having either skipped supper or taken it in his cabin. Visibly irritated by his inability to join the captain's foursome, he looked about the room, his eye finally lighting on Della, where she sat commiserating with Virginia on a sofa.

Della watched him cross the room with some misgiving. Kent had briefly excused himself to fetch something from their cabin to aid in a discussion he was having with Ansel Easton, so she was on her own for the moment.

Mr. Cadbury wove his way across the floor, whether from drink or the motion of the ship, she wasn't sure—though she hoped it was the latter. Finally he heaved his bulk to a halt before her, his little eyes glittering with malice.

"So, my fine lady. Think you're better than my sister, do you?"

Della had seen enough men in their cups to know reason was more likely to anger than appease him. Still, she had to say something. "I'm sure your sister is the most admirable of women," she offered.

"Damned right, she is! The best woman living, and partly to my credit. I made sure she never suffered an insult in her life, even when she was a schoolgirl. Sent more than one spoony to the rightabout, too, when they presumed to pay her court. Not good enough for her, any of 'em."

"No doubt the perfect man is still out there, searching for her," Della suggested.

He snorted. "Perfect or not, she set her sights on Bradford. I tried to talk her out of it, but she made it clear that's what she wanted—a place in New York's society, as well as Philadelphia's. But now you've taken that away from her. Not sure I can allow that."

Virginia struggled to sit up, despite her queasiness. "Sir, are you threatening Mrs. Bradford?"

Cadbury's mouth worked for a moment. "Take it as you will. I've said nothing incriminating. But I'll be damned if I let my sister suffer because of some upstart Irish wench."

Billy Birch came up just then, before Della could decide how best to respond. "Here, now, we can't have you swearing in front of the ladies. Come, there's a poker game just starting over here. Why don't you join in? I'll have the steward bring you another glass of claret."

Cadbury glowered at the smaller man, but allowed himself to be led away. Billy turned to wink at the ladies over his shoulder, and Della sent him a grateful smile. The incident had reinforced her doubts, but when Kent rejoined the party a moment later, she was able to act as though nothing was amiss.

After all, she thought lightly, perhaps the ship would go down in the storm and she'd never have to deal with any of the worries that plagued her after all.

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CHAPTER 15

And the coming wind did roar more loud,

And the sails did sigh like sedge;

And the rain poured down from one black cloud;

The Moon was at its edge.

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Kent thought he noticed a shadow in Della's eyes when he rejoined her, but wasn't certain until just before the party broke up for the evening. Under cover of making plans for the next day, Billy Birch pulled him aside and told him about Francis Cadbury's hectoring, though he hadn't heard much of the conversation.

"Three sheets to the wind the man was, and in an ill-temper to boot. I was able to distract him, but he bears watching."

Kent nodded slowly. "I know he does. I'll be more vigilant in the future. Thank you, Billy."

Rejoining Della, he waited until they were back in their stateroom before speaking. "I understand you had an unpleasant encounter with Francis Cadbury earlier. I'm sorry I wasn't there to defend you."

He was more than sorry—he was frustrated and ashamed. If he couldn't protect her from insult even in the restricted environment of the ship, how would he do so in New York? So much for all his fine promises.

"It's just as well," she said, to his surprise. "He was drunk, and spoiling for a fight. Had you been there, he might have found one, and that would have done none of us any good." The shadows did not leave her eyes, however.

"Della, you must know that most Easterners are nothing like Francis," he said urgently. "Even as a boy, he was a cowardly bully, harrassing those who were younger or weaker than he, or who could not retaliate. I've never considered him a friend, despite our mothers' closeness. He's not in the least representative of the people I'd have you associate with in New York."

She smiled, the shadows lightening. "It wouldn't say much for my judgment if I believed you enjoyed the society of a man like that. I'm glad, though, to hear he was never a friend of yours. I feared I was perceiving him as worse than he is, because of my own selfish—and yes, jealous—leanings."

Kent enfolded her in his arms. "You have nothing to be jealous of, Della. Not ever. My betrothal to Caroline was one of convenience and family alliance for the sake of wealth and connections, never one of love. Not even she ever pretended it was anything else."

Della pulled back to look up at him doubtfully. "Truly, Kent? It has tormented me to think I'll cause her pain. If she cares for you even half as much as I do, our news will be a terrible blow to her."

"The only blow will be to her pride and ambitions, I assure you." He gathered her close again, resting his chin on top of her head.

"We were friends as children, seeing each other frequently when our mothers visited, but as we grew older, her interests turned to fashion and gossip, and mine to business. My mother persuaded me we would be a good match, and as I assumed I'd have to marry eventually anyway, I made her an offer. She accepted, as coolly as I offered. No protestations of passion or dreams of happiness, just mutual satisfaction at the prospect of a profitable alliance."

Della's arms crept around him, almost shyly. "I have trouble imagining you as such a mercenary."

He sighed, ruffling her hair with his breath. "But I was. Until I met you, I don't believe I knew what true happiness was. Thank heaven I found out in time, before binding myself in a union that would have precluded it for the rest of my life."

Now she pressed her cheek against his chest. "I'll do my best to make you happy, Kent—as I know you'll do for me."

"I will." He made it a vow.

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Della was rudely awakened the next morning by being nearly thrown from her berth. Clutching at Kent with one hand and the edge of the bunk with the other, she looked around wildly as the last shreds of a pleasant dream fled. The wind had by no means abated—she could hear it wailing and screaming just outside the hull.

"Another day of this?" Kent was awake now, too. "You were the one who wished for excitement, were you not?"

"I take it back," she said wryly, sitting up. Yes, the floor was rocking more steeply than it had yesterday. Remembering her errant thought last night about the ship sinking, she swallowed. In the future, she would be more careful about what she wished for!

Her lilac dress was still damp, but she pulled it on anyway, again dispensing with the hoops. She had realized yesterday that in this wind they would be more than an inconvenience—they were a positive danger.

"Does your wardrobe selection mean you intend going on deck again?" Kent asked as he completed his careful shave, despite the pitching. She heard the hint of worry in his voice.

"Maybe just for a peek. I won't stay up there if it seems too dangerous, I promise."

A few minutes later, Kent had no need to remind her of that promise. They made their way up the curving stairs to the deck with some difficulty, hampered by the pitching of the ship and by occasional gushes of seawater that came under the door at the head of the stairs. On opening the door, a fearsome sight met them.

Della stood aghast, watching as a huge wave, many times the height of the ship, rushed toward them. Certain that this was likely to be the last sight she'd ever see, she clutched at Kent, unable to tear her gaze away from the terrifying tower of water. It leaned over them from on high, and then, just as she was sure they would be engulfed forever, the ship lurched and rose, as though hoisted by an invisible, giant hand.

Water crashed across the deck, dousing them both thoroughly and filling her eyes. Blinking to clear her vision, she saw that they were now on a mountain with valleys all about them—and then they were rushing downward again.

With her heart in her throat, Della watched the process repeat itself once, twice, thrice. It seemed a miracle that the ship was still afloat, and the pitching they'd felt below was more than explained.

"Seen enough?" Kent murmured in her ear—or, rather, shouted, for the shriek of the wind and crashing of the waves made anything less inadible.

Mutely, she nodded.

They backed through the door and pulled it closed before descending again to the saloon. Not surprisingly, it was nearly deserted. Aunt Lucy was individually serving the few hardy souls who could stomach breakfast, but she made no pretense of laying out a full meal. Della wondered how on earth the cook had managed to prepare anything at all, with the ship rocking so violently.

Of those they knew, only Judge Monson and Billy Birch were in evidence, speaking to a small cluster of obviously terrified passengers. Approaching, Della heard Monson declaring yet again that there was no cause for alarm.

"These ships weather worse than this several times a year," he was saying. "Hurricanes are common in these lattitudes, and ships are built to withstand them."